


Night Before Passover

by Lunasong365



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bible, Gen, Holy Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 10:32:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10592181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunasong365/pseuds/Lunasong365
Summary: Crowley brings some disturbing news to Aziraphale, but the angel is of no help.





	

The moon, waxing gibbous, had arced just past its apex, imperceptibly lengthening the shadows and indicating a time just after midnight. Most people were slumbering behind locked doors and gates, looking forward to the start of the great festival the next evening when family and friends would gather together for a traditional meal of celebration. The only stirring was the occasional Roman patrol.

Crowley crept around the corner, scouting for optimal shadow before cautiously crossing the moonlight-exposed street to the penumbral shelter of the opposite side. Pausing under a low-hanging tree, he was startled when a couple of roosting birds took flight. They nervously called as they dispersed into the darkness.

Skulking along the darkened house fronts, Crowley carefully examined each façade. He’d been this way before, but never at night, and even though he could see perfectly in the dark, appearances were altered by the sharp contrast between light and shadow. The homes in this poorer section of Jerusalem were crowded together, with minimal gaps between buildings. Often it was difficult to tell where one structure ended and another began. He pulled his cloak closer around him to ward off the early spring chill. The demon’s eyes glowed as he recognized a certain mud-brick dwelling, windows shuttered against the night. The gleam of a lamp limned the rough-hewn slats.

Crowley rattled the shutters and hissed, “Aziraphale!”

A shutter cracked open. One eye peered out before the door opened just enough to grant him passage. Crowley pointedly ignored the mezuzah as he slipped inside.

“Come here to try to pick my brain?” Aziraphale wryly commented. “You’ll not get any information from me about what’s been happening.” Holding the lamp, the angel nevertheless led Crowley to the table, where it appeared he’d been drinking.

“Actually, I’m here with disturbing news,” Crowley said, accepting the cup Aziraphale had poured for him. “I’ve just come from the house of the high priest.”

“Caiaphas?” Aziraphale scoffed. “He and his buddy Annas and the rest of their cronies. I’m not surprised you have them in your pocket.”

“No, it’s not like that.” Crowley fidgeted a moment. “I wasn’t there on what one might call official business. But I did overhear something that affects your faction - Jesus of Nazareth and  _his_ buddies. One of them is a traitor.”

Aziraphale roughly grabbed Crowley’s arm, gripping him tightly as if preparing to smite. Crowley quickly deflected, “No, that wasn’t me either! I’ve been staying pretty far away from that group. Jesus… well, I’ve never been able to do anything productive with him. You know that some call him the Son of God, don’t you? He’s got this aura about him… untouchable.” He gamely removed Aziraphale’s hand from his arm and placed it back on the cup Aziraphale had set down. “Here. You might need it.

“They’re plotting to kill Jesus. The temple hierarchy feel he’s gotten too dangerous; upsetting the status quo. It’s in their interest keep the peace, and to silence voices that get people riled up and questioning authority. They’re planning a setup to pressure the Romans to act. Up to this point the government really hasn’t taken notice of Jesus, but he’s been driving the religious leaders crazy with his radical talk about reforming society. They’re going to force Rome’s hand by saying Jesus claims to be king of the Jews. That won’t fly very well with Herod  _or_  Pontius Pilate.”

The angel sat down, sudden cognizance transforming his demeanor. “So. This explains some of the signs I’ve been trying to interpret as prophecy.” He stared into his cup. “The game is afoot. I might have suspected, after that triumphal parade into Jerusalem a few days ago. It was staged like the mockery of a triumphant King returning to his kingdom after a successful military campaign. Unfortunately,” he sighed, “I am not permitted to interfere in this matter. Heaven  _wants_  Jesus killed.”

Crowley was incredulous. “What?  _Why?_  He’s the most decent human being I’ve ever known! Why the death warrant? This is wrong. Something’s wrong.”

“I know,” Aziraphale concurred. “Jesus is probably the closest human yet to what God originally intended. But orders are orders. My hands are tied. I was commanded by Gabriel to sit tight and let events unfold once they started. And Jesus’s betrayal by one of his own is the catalyst.”

The demon stood up, livid. “No. Don’t you say it.”

Aziraphale looked at him sadly. “I have to. This is part of the Ineffable Plan.”

“I will never understand your lot. You smite the ungodly. You smite the godly. Just what is it you are looking for?” Crowley threw up his hands in frustration and exited into the night, leaving the door open in his wake.

Aziraphale sat heavily back down at the table, pensively fingering the parchment edict from Gabriel, and staring out into the moonlit street.

 

* * *

  

Eschewing his typical luxurious garb for the common robes of a traveler from Cyrene (a distant locale on the continent of Africa), Crowley melted into the jeering crowds that lined the dusty road that led to Golgotha. The trial had been amazingly quick. The condemned man, his back flayed to shredded meat, was already so beaten he could barely carry the transverse beam on which he would be crucified. He stumbled, taking a knee to the dirt, and the crowd laughed. It was a startling contrast to the triumphant tableau just a few days before, when his followers had cheered and waved palms, laying their cloaks before him in the road.

Crowley was there by obligation, knowing he’d need to report this event to Hell, dreading the commendation he suspected was forthcoming.

The soldiers overseeing the procession consulted with each other, then scanned the crowd.

“You!” one of them called, singling out the able-bodied demon. “Come here and carry this. Be quick about it. We haven’t got all day!”

Crowley glanced around, confirming he was the man to whom the soldier pointed, as everyone else studiously avoided eye contact with the Romans. If a Roman soldier asked a subject to do a job, they were obligated to obey. Crowley could have caused a stir, or avoided being conscripted by artifice, but he sensed the unearthly aura of courage and grace radiating from the prisoner kneeling in the road, his head bowed in sorrow and suffering. Hefting the beam from Jesus’s arms, Crowley lifted it with a demon’s strength. The man painfully rose to his feet and turned, placing a scarred hand on Crowley’s shoulder.

“Bless you,” Jesus murmured, his gentle gaze meeting Crowley’s own equivocal look. The demon flinched, but held steady. He’d felt the burn of the holy touch and polarity pressed him to flee, but the inner tumult that typically plagued his thoughts had suddenly been smoothed as if by unction. Could this broken man truly be whom they said He was?

The pair slowly continued uphill under the supervision of the soldiers toward the outskirts of town.

Camouflaged in the voyeuristic throng, Aziraphale furtively followed, weighed down by his own figurative burden, tears in his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> The events of this fic take place the night before Passover, which starts at sundown. Passover is a Jewish holiday commemorating the "passing over" of the Israelites by the plagues of Egypt. It is what Jesus and his disciples were celebrating at the Last Supper, which some Christians call Maundy Thursday (in the gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, NOT John, which places the timing differently).
> 
> Jesus was arrested after the meal when he went to a garden to pray, and was singled out to the Roman authorities through a kiss by Judas Iscariot. He was tried, condemned, and crucified during about an 18-hour period.
> 
> Simon of Cyrene is mentioned in the same three Gospels as being singled out of the crowd to carry Jesus's cross. Cyrene was located in what is now modern-day Libya.
> 
> You may be curious why three of the Gospels are different from the fourth (John). It is theorized that lost material called the "Q Source" is the basis for these three synoptic Gospels, while John was written from another source. All Gospels are "attributed" and not written by their eponymous authors.


End file.
